


A Love Story in 48 Hours

by FrostyEmma



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Sharing a Bed, always have always will, look they love each other, that's my canon and I'm sticking to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostyEmma/pseuds/FrostyEmma
Summary: Steve and Bucky always find their way back to each other. Always. (Goats might be involved. And spicy fish stew. Oh, and memories of their previous lives as a couple of boys from Brooklyn.)Written for Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2019 with art by gyrhs!





	A Love Story in 48 Hours

**Author's Note:**

> As the MCU has long since taught us, stay for the end notes!

  
[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/149453653@N06/48111539077/in/dateposted-public/)  
  


**Greece  
**  
2016

In a rundown hotel in Corfu, Steve tried to coax hot water out of a rattling showerhead in a bathtub that looked like it very much wanted to fall through the floor. 

“Hey, Steve.” Natasha kind of knocked, but not really. Her fingertips grazed the bathroom door before she pushed it open. “You have a call.” She quirked an eyebrow. “On a very secure channel.”

Steve hauled himself upright, his lower back complaining from too much fighting and too little sleep. His hair was greasy, his beard itchy, and his uniform in desperate need of a wash. But his heart was light as he took in the meaning of what Natasha had said.

“I’ll take it in here.” 

The sounds of a raucous Greek soap opera drifted from the TV in the main room. Wanda and Sam sat on one of the beds, a bag of street corner gyros between them. 

Natasha slipped out, pulling the door shut behind her, and Steve tapped in the sequence that would connect the secure call on the tablet she’d left on the chipped washstand.

He’d been expecting T’Challa. Or Shuri. Or Okoye, or any of the Wakandan higher-ups. 

Bucky was on-screen instead. And without preamble, he said, “So. A beard. That’s new.”

“Hey, Buck.” Steve grinned in spite of the ribbing. “You like it?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“It’s mostly a disguise, but I’ll keep it if you think I ought to.”

A faint smile slid across Bucky’s mouth but didn’t quite land. “So I’m not supposed to ask where you are.” 

The grin quickly turned into a frown. 

As much as Steve hated it - as much as everything in him rebelled at the idea of having to be on the run at all - he couldn’t risk anything that would lead to them being tracked down. Not for himself, but for Wanda and Sam and Natasha. (And for Vision too, though Wanda still thought that neither Steve nor Natasha knew about that.)

“But…” Bucky hesitated. “You could always come here and tell me. In person.” He shrugged a bit too casually, but enough for Steve to realize he still had only one arm. “If you can swing it.”

Steve’s face split in a wide smile. Finding Bucky awake and alert, out of the freezer and seemingly on the mend, was great news all on its own. But knowing that he wanted to see him into the bargain? 

That made it a hundred times better.

“I’ll be there in five hours.”

Five hours on a Quinjet (with a 48 hour leave of absence, which Sam preferred to call a ‘cross-continental hall pass’) gave Steve plenty of time to think.

And anticipate.

He had lived in places more rundown than a seaside hotel on a Greek island. 

 

**Brooklyn  
1939**

“Okay. So.” Bucky straightened from where he had been crouched in the empty bathtub, filthy wrench (borrowed from the neighbor) in one hand and suspenders hanging down around his legs. “We have no water.”

“Just us?” Steve ran a hand through his sweaty hair, wiped his sweaty hand on his sweaty shirt and wished for the dozenth time that he could just move into the icebox until this latest heat wave had passed. “Or everybody on this floor?”

Bucky climbed out of the bathtub and set the wrench on the kitchen table. 

Steve sat down on the floor, sagging down against the sink cabinet, and wasn’t surprised to find that it was no cooler down there. “‘Cause I’ve got to tell you, I’m not even sure whether it’d make me feel any better to know everybody else was having the same problem.”

“Mr. Cociarelli didn’t have time to tell me.” Bucky wiped a damp hand across his sweaty forehead, which probably did him no good at all. His hair had begun to curl in the heat. “He handed me the wrench, but his wife had already started in on the usual _‘brutto figlio di puttana bastardo’_ routine, you know? So I didn’t stick around to ask.”

“Yeah.” Steve winced. “Probably a good idea.” 

The Cociarellis were known for two things: their baseball-sized meatballs, which they shared with the neighborhood on feast days, and their rip-roaring, operatic squabbles, which they shared with the building whether the tenants wanted to hear it or not. 

Steve scooted closer to the tub in a sitting position, not wanting to stand up and still not being able to escape the clinging heat at floor level. “So what’s the plan? Do I head down to the basement and start banging on pipes or what?”

“And flood the basement?” Bucky scowled. “There’s a good way to get our mook asses evicted.”

“How can I flood the basement if there’s no water?” Steve scowled right back, flinging his arms upward. “Besides, if we don’t go down there and try to fix it, who’s going to?”

Bucky blew out a sigh. “Mr. Bonetti?” 

The landlord.

“Sure.” Steve snorted. “Right after I win an Olympic gold medal in weightlifting and Hell’s Kitchen grows icicles in August.”

Another sigh. Bucky picked up the wrench.

 

**Wakanda  
2016**

Steve smiled faintly at the memory as the Quinjet dipped down below the Wakandan holographic perimeter. From the outside, and from the air, the entire country was made to look rural, forested, and thoroughly unremarkable. But underneath the hologram were marvels of technological engineering that would have made Tony drool.

Which was precisely why he’d never let Tony lay eyes on the place.

The comm channel gave a single loud chirp, and Steve turned to look at the console.

“Good morning, Captain Rogers.” Shuri wore a very elaborate, braided hairstyle, and Steve felt unkempt and ragged in comparison. “You must be dropping in because you missed the goat curry.”

“I’m surprised there are any goats left after how much I ate last time.” Steve smiled at the princess. 

“In fact, there are no goats left.” Shuri’s eyes sparkled. “You ate them into extinction, I’m afraid.”

“Wait.” Steve’s brow furrowed. “So can you just import a bunch of new goats and put them on my bill, or were they special irreplaceable Wakandan goats and now I’ve ruined the ecosystem?”

“The ecosystem has been destroyed.” Shuri shook her head sadly, but a moment later, her expression turned sly. “Though I might know of a place where you can, perhaps, retrieve a few goats and restore our depleted ecosystem.”

“Gotcha.” He grinned. “It’s a good thing none of the others are here, though. Then I’d have to talk them into going on a goat mission.”

Her eyebrow twitched. “I think you’d prefer this to be a solo goat mission. Transmitting coordinates now.”

“Hold on.” Steve frowned down at the console, where a new set of coordinates was indeed flashing on the nav screen - a different set of coordinates that the one that would have taken him to the palace. “You weren’t kidding? You’re actually sending me goat coordinates?”

The coordinates took him to a large open plain beside a river, a good distance outside the city, where a few scattered huts of mud brick and sturdy reeds were the only man-made structures in sight. The trees were old-looking things with wide-spreading crowns and gnarled trunks. And yes, there was a small herd of goats munching contentedly at the grass.

A trio of children spotted him coming down the gangplank. Before he could even lift his hand in greeting, they took off running, giggling and shouting something he couldn’t make out.

The entry curtain to one of the huts twitched aside, and Bucky emerged, dressed in Wakandan robes and squinting in the sunlight.

“You weren’t kidding about five hours.” A tentative smile slid across his face as he approached. “You must’ve flown all night.”

“It was worth it.” Steve grinned broadly and reached out to wrap his arms around Bucky, enfolding him in a crushing hug. 

There was something so indescribably relieving about being able to look Bucky in the face after so long, to hug him and know it was real, to see him awake and alert and unfrozen after everything he’d been through. 

It gave Steve hope that not everything was as bad as it seemed, living on the run as he was.

“I don’t even feel that tired anymore.”

“But you’re hungry.” It wasn’t a question. Bucky stepped back and eyed Steve appraisingly. “No goat curry on the menu, but I have some _ceebu jenn._ ”

“Bless you.” Steve smirked. “I don’t blame you about the curry, though.” He gestured out over the sparse goat herd. “It’s bad manners to eat the neighbors.”

“Nah, I could never eat my friends.” A faint smile drifted across Bucky’s face. “Not when they mow the lawn for me.”

One of the goats looked up then, and Steve swore the thing narrowed its eyes at him suspiciously. 

He followed Bucky across the grass and into the hut. It was dark and cool inside and sparsely decorated, though Steve did notice the sleeping pallet was big enough for two.

He didn’t know what to do with that thought.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bucky said, and Steve whipped his head around, eyes widening. “But this place gets great wifi.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his heart rate beginning to return to normal. “That’s just what I was thinking.”

 

**Brooklyn  
1939**

“Think we need more ice?”

Steve sagged back against the pillow, sweaty and out of breath in the muggy heat of the July evening. 

The electric fan churned the air sluggishly, a melting block of ice from the icebox resting on a plate in front of it, but it was fighting a losing battle. Bucky lay next to Steve - well, half on top of him, really - his skin just as sweaty and his breath almost as short.

Which wasn’t a surprise, given how they’d spent the evening so far.

“Probably.” Bucky spoke into the side of Steve’s neck. “But that would mean getting up.”

Steve let out a sound halfway between a groan and a sigh, reaching up to run a hand through his damp hair and push it back off his forehead. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

He let his arm come down and settle around Bucky’s shoulders, feeling contented and satisfied despite the temperature. It had only been a couple of weeks since Bucky had moved in with him, but Steve had gotten used to it almost immediately. 

“I guess we’ll just have to wait till we can’t stand it anymore, and then take a nice cool bath.” Steve sighed, leaning his cheek against the top of Bucky’s head. Bucky’s hair was just as sweaty as his, but he didn’t mind. “At least the water’s fixed now.”

They had spent a frustrating two hours in the basement, screwing around with various pipes until something seemed to take. Or maybe the water had just turned itself back on? 

“Either way, everything’s jake,” Bucky had said, and they beat it back upstairs, returned the wrench to Mr. Cociarelli (ignoring the yelling in Italian that was still going on inside the apartment) and promptly fell into bed and worked up even more of a sweat.

Steve smiled at the thought that they could really do something like that now. That they had their own place, just the pair of them, and that there didn’t have to be any sort of sneaking around for them to spend time together the way they wanted to.

“I’m glad you moved in, Buck.” Steve turned his face and kissed Bucky gently on the forehead. He paused, then grinned. “Especially when it’s hot enough for you to walk around in your shorts.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but the expression on his face betrayed delight. “It gets any hotter, I’m going to walk around in my birthday suit.”

Steve immediately brightened up. “Is that a promise?” He grinned. “Because if it is, I’ll just toss that block of ice right out the window.”

“Oh, it’s a promise.” Bucky kissed the side of Steve’s neck. “But let’s work up more of a sweat first.”

 

**Wakanda  
2016**

The _ceebu jenn_ turned out to be a spicy fish and rice stew, and Steve realized he was actually sweating.

“Hot?” Bucky asked serenely, though Steve swore there was a shit-eating grin somewhere just out of sight.

“It’s making me a little thirsty, yeah,” Steve admitted, wiping his forehead. To keep that latent grin from actually bursting out onto Bucky’s face, though, he followed it up with “I bet they tossed in an extra couple of chili peppers for you the first time you ate it, too, just to see what kind of faces you’d make.”

Bucky glanced at him and then wordlessly got up and took a pitcher of what appeared to be juice out of the icebox. He set that down in front of Steve, then rustled up two glasses - all with one arm, and Steve still wasn’t entirely sure what to say about that.

He poured them a glass each. “Pineapple ginger juice,” he offered, then waited for Steve to take a sip before continuing. “I wish I could take credit for the _ceebu jenn_ , but the truth is, I can’t cook worth a damn. Some of the elderly ladies in this village took pity on me and have been feeding me pretty steadily the past few months.”

The words hit home, but Bucky continued unperturbed. 

“Guess they didn’t want to see the white boy starve on their watch.”

Steve just looked at him, the stew forgotten in the aftermath of Bucky’s casual revelation.

“The past few _months_?” His expression hovered somewhere between incredulous and stormy. If this meant what he thought it did, then Bucky was going to have some serious explaining to do. 

“Bucky, are you telling me you’ve been off the ice for the past few months and this is the first I’m hearing about it?”

Bucky was suddenly very interested in his pineapple ginger juice, draining the entire glass and refilling it without saying a word.

“Oh, come on, Buck!” Steve threw up his hands in exasperation. “How long were you even out for? A week? A couple of days? And you didn’t think I might’ve been interested in knowing about it?”

Another beat of silence.

“It’s been a while, Steve,” Bucky said quietly. “I wanted those trigger words out of my head. I wanted to make sure I was stable-” He shrugged. “-ish. I wanted…”

He sighed. Took a sip of his juice.

Steve waited, probably a little less than patiently.

Finally Bucky said, “I wanted you to have someone worth coming back for.” 

“Oh, Bucky.” Steve felt himself deflate a bit. “Don’t you understand? You’d be worth coming back for even if nobody’d done any work on your head. You could’ve been in the worst shape in the world and I’d still have come back for you.” 

Bucky glanced at him. “I was in pretty bad shape, Steve.”

Steve shook his head. “The only reason I left in the first place was because you insisted on going back in the freezer. If I’d known they were just going to take you out again two days later, I’d’ve stayed.” He gave a slight scowl. “If only to remind you how dumb an idea it was when you woke up.”

Bucky returned the scowl. “Okay, for one, it wasn’t two days, all right?”

Steve said nothing.

Bucky’s scowl deepened. “It was two, maybe three, weeks. They had a family affair. Or a civil war. Or something. A combination of the two, got it?”

“See that, way over there?” Steve pointed out the window of the hut. “That’s the point, Buck. Way over there.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” Bucky gestured to the bowl of half-eaten stew. “Eat your _ceebu jenn_.”

“I’m a lot more interested in your magical two-week cure,” Steve grumbled, though he did pick up the bowl and resume shoveling the spicy stew down. After the initial heat, the stuff was pretty delicious. Either that, or he was just fantastically hungry.

Maybe both.

“But seriously, Buck,” he said after a moment. “You should’ve let me know as soon as you were up and about. You don’t know how much I’ve been wanting to see you again.”

“You were busy.” Off Steve’s incredulous look, Bucky sighed and added, “I wasn’t ready.”

“For God’s sake, Bucky.” Steve threw up his hands, then moved closer to Bucky - close enough to knock his forehead against Bucky’s. “What is it with you and running away from me?”

Bucky sighed again. He seemed to be full of them. “That’s not fair, Steve.”

“No, I mean it.” Steve reached out and grasped Bucky’s shoulders. It suddenly felt necessary to hold onto him. “After the helicarriers, you left me on the riverbank and ran away. Then you spent two years living on the run in Europe, and when I finally caught up with you, you tried to run away again. Then, when we finally cleared your name, you wanted to go back into the freezer.” He shook his head. “Don’t you know by now that trying to go it alone just makes everything worse?”

“I wasn’t ready.” Abruptly Bucky pushed away and stood up. “I needed to figure my own shit out, Steve. I needed to know who I was, I needed to get my head on straight.” He pushed his hand through his hair.

For the first time, Steve noticed that someone had made several little braids through it. Maybe those giggling children?

“I wasn’t ready,” Bucky repeated.

Steve just sagged.

“I would’ve helped you, you know.” He shook his head again. “I wanted to help you.”

Bucky didn’t look at him. “I know you would’ve.”

Steve hung forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees. “You needed to know who you were? What better way to remember that than by coming back with the one person who knows you better than anyone in the world ever did?” He looked up, saddened and searching. “And what good did running away wind up doing you?”

 

**Brooklyn  
1939**

“Hey,” Steve protested, propping himself up on his elbows. “What good is getting out of bed going to do you?”

But Bucky had already rolled out of bed - pleasingly bare ass naked - and darted out of Steve’s grasp.

“For one, it’ll give me a break from your unquenchable libido.” That didn’t stop him from wiggling his ass as he walked away though. “And for another, there’s Cokes in the icebox and I’ve worked up a thirst.”

Steve looked him over appreciatively, unable to keep the smile off his face. “You really think parading around in the buff is going to make my libido any more quenchable?” His brow furrowed. “Less unquenchable? More… I dunno.” 

Bucky tossed him a look over his shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen. 

“Point is,” Steve called after him, “you’re not getting a break.”

“For such a little guy, you’re a massive pain in the ass.” Bucky reappeared in the doorway, bottles of Coke in one hand and still naked as the day he was born. “How does that even work?”

“We didn’t use enough Vaseline?” Steve grinned and immediately put up his hands to ward off anything Bucky might decide to throw at him for his smart-ass remark.

“Jesus, Steve.” Bucky shook his head and handed Steve one of the Cokes. “You have the sense of humor of an old guy.” 

Steve’s eyebrow lifted. “What old guys do you know that would joke around about something like that?” He brought the bottle to his mouth and took a long, satisfying swallow. “Besides, I thought you liked my sense of humor.”

“I don’t remember saying that.” 

“Well, I don’t remember you _not_ saying it.” Steve gestured significantly at Bucky with his Coke bottle. “And I do remember you deciding that moving in with me was a pretty good idea.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, took a long pull on the Coke bottle, then set it down on the nightstand and flopped back into bed. 

“Well, I never claimed to have any sense.” He smiled up at Steve. “And now look at me.”

 

**Wakanda  
2016**

“Look at us.” Bucky snorted softly and shook his head. “Haven’t seen each other in a couple of months, and we’re arguing like…”

“Like we always used to,” Steve finished for him, then chuckled. “Like an old married couple.”

That phrase gave him a thrill, though, in the way it never had before. Because now, unlike before, it was actually a possibility. 

And yet, there was melancholy as well. After all, how could they marry when Steve was currently a fugitive from not only his own country, but nearly every other one as well? How could they make it work? 

Did Bucky want to make it work? 

Bucky turned and studied him for a moment. “You’re thinking so hard, I can smell the smoke.”

Steve gave him a scowl, mostly to hide the chuckle he felt rising in his chest.

“I dunno, Buck.” He looked around the small room and sighed. “I just wish you’d’ve told me you were awake sooner. You know I would’ve come to see you.” He turned back to Bucky. “You do know that, right?”

Bucky looked away. “Yeah, Steve, I know.”

An uncomfortable moment of silence passed between them.

“Hey,” Bucky said suddenly. “You want to meet the goats?”

Steve brightened. Maybe they still had a ways to go as far as reestablishing the way they felt about each other, but there were more ways than one to do that. 

“Sure.” He stood, dusting off his knees. “Let’s meet your friends. Who apparently mow the lawn for you.” 

A few minutes later, Steve sat cross-legged outside, surrounded by a flock (a herd?) of goats who were lazily munching their way through the grass.

Bucky sat next to him, pointing out the various goats in turn. “The smallest one is Becca. The reddish one is Natalia. The two brothers - I think they’re brothers anyway - are Sam and Wilson.”

Steve hadn’t realized just how dopey-looking goats were until he was up close and personal with them. Especially one in particular, who kept bleating in annoyance and butting his head gently against Steve’s arm.

“Who’s this guy?” Steve asked, shoving the goat’s horns away from his arm.

“Stevie.”

Stevie the goat promptly rammed his head against Steve’s arm again.

Steve glowered at Bucky. “Really?” He nudged the unreasonably stubborn goat away again. “Why ‘Stevie’?”

Stevie bleated in abject frustration and crashed into Steve’s arm. 

“Oh,” Bucky said serenely, faint (shit-eating) smile on his lips. “No reason.”

 

**Brooklyn  
1939**

The heat hadn’t dissipated at all, and Steve felt sweat trickle down one side of his face. Something trickled down the other side of his face as well, but it wasn’t sweat - just water from the melting ice that Bucky was holding over a rapidly-swelling black eye.

“You ever heard the phrase ‘choose your battles’?” Bucky’s face was a strange mixture of fond exasperation and weariness. “Well, you keep choosing all of them, and look at you.”

“He could have apologized.” Steve felt around inside his mouth with his tongue, found no loose teeth, and figured that counted as a win. “Or he could have never said what he said in the first place.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

Steve continued undeterred. “People can’t just go around doing anything they feel like doing without a care in the world for how it affects other people.”

When Bucky’s only response was a sigh, Steve took the ice away from his face and fixed Bucky with both eyes. Well, with an eye and a half, anyway.

“You see what’s going on out there, Buck.” He gave a frustrated sigh. “The world is filling up with people who get by on pure hate. They feed on it, and they spread it around like some kind of a disease, and they’re only happy when they’re treating someone else like garbage.” 

He felt a terrible combination of anger and sadness swelling up in his chest. “People like Franco and Mussolini and Hitler and everyone else like them. They’re bullies, is what they are. And bullies only stop when somebody decides to hit back.”

Bucky hummed in response and went back to pressing the towel-wrapped ice against Steve’s eye. 

“And you’re planning on hitting all of them back,” he said after a moment, “aren’t you?”

“If I have to.” Steve’s jaw was set, and he nodded with determination. He hated bullies, had always hated them and the fear they thrived on. 

Roosevelt had gotten it right, he thought, when he’d spoken those stirring words six years previously - that the only thing to fear was fear itself.

“But I hope I don’t have to do it alone.”

Bucky shook his head. “You’re such a pain in the ass.” He smoothed damp locks of hair off Steve’s brow and planted a kiss on his sweaty forehead. “You know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Steve grumbled, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face. 

Of course Bucky would back him up. He always had. If there had ever been one constant in his life - one thing he could rely on when everything else had failed - it was Bucky. And if he had to choose only one person to stand by his side, then he’d choose Bucky every time.

“So I was thinking about taking boxing lessons,” he said, the smile broadening as he looked up at Bucky out of his good eye.

 

**Wakanda  
2016**

Stevie the goat rammed into Steve’s arm with fresh enthusiasm. 

“Stubborn little fucker,” Bucky said placidly. “Isn’t he?”

“It’d help if I knew what was bothering him so much,” Steve grumbled, slinging an arm around the goat’s neck and getting him in something like a headlock. Pushing him away was doing no good, after all. “Does he do this to the other goats?”

Stevie promptly began chewing on Steve’s sleeve.

Bucky smiled. “He’s very protective of me and his goat family.”

“No! Get off!” Steve flapped at the goat’s head, letting go of the headlock and giving Stevie the goat a good shove before looking down to inspect his sleeve critically. “This is the only outfit I’ve got. The last thing I need is goat holes in the sleeves.”

Bucky’s expression turned incredulous, even as Stevie prepared himself for another headbutt. “You have _one_ outfit?”

“Well, it’s not like I can go to a tailor while I’m an international fugitive.” Steve held the goat at arm’s length with a hand on its forehead. “Especially one who can make an Old Glory suit out of carbon polymer and duralumin.”

“Yeah? I’ll bet Wilson and Romanova manage.”

“I’m also not going to go out Avenging in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.”

“Neither do they.”

Stevie the goat struggled against Steve’s hand, bleating in clear annoyance, hooves digging deep grooves into the dirt.

“You want to take a bath?” Bucky continued. “And I’ll see if I can get your sole, solitary outfit washed. If it doesn’t fall apart first.”

Steve practically salivated at the sound of the word _bath_. He felt filthy enough that he was willing to bet his clothes were capable of walking around without him if he took them off. And his beard was beginning to itch terribly.

His eagerness must have shown on his face, because Bucky pointed languidly to the river. “Fresh water. And I have organic soap and shampoo.”

Twenty minutes later, freshly scrubbed with organic soap, smelling like lemony herbs and wrapped in a Wakandan robe, Steve settled down on a bench by the river bank with a satisfied and exhausted sigh. The flight, the time change, and the generally terrible schedule he’d been keeping lately all seemed to converge on him at once. 

He was suddenly - and monstrously - tired.

“So there’s just the one bed.” Back inside the hut, Bucky gestured to the sleeping pallet. “It’s big enough for two or…” He shrugged. “You can go back to the palace for the night if you like.”

Steve arched an eyebrow at him questioningly. It wasn’t as though they’d never shared a bed, after all, even though it had been a while. 

Another shrug, a bit too casual. “Up to you.”

“I’ll stay.” Steve smiled. “I didn’t come here for the palace; I came here for you.”

Several conflicting expressions flitted across Bucky’s face, but he returned a small smile. “Get comfy then. I’ll be in later.”

Steve shucked his woven robe (hanging it carefully on a peg by the window) and flopped down on the sleeping pallet. He drew the thin blanket over himself and settled back into the surprisingly comfortable bed.

He wondered what he expected to happen that evening. As much as he might have wanted things to simply revert to the way they’d been before the war - or even during the war - he didn’t think that was possible. At least not for Bucky, who’d been through such a nightmare that Steve didn’t know if he’d ever completely recover from it. 

And if he were going to be honest, Steve wasn’t even sure of himself. 

He was a fugitive, after all, on the run from practically everyone. From people he’d once thought of as his friends, from the government of his own country, even from the very people he’d tried so hard to protect. And what could he really offer Bucky from a position like that?

What could he offer anyone?

He wasn’t sure at what point he’d drifted off to sleep, but he woke up abruptly to a blow in his side. His eyes flew open -

Bucky lay sprawled beside him in a posture that was as immediately familiar as it was ridiculous. He lay on his stomach, his arm angled underneath him with his face mashed against his own bicep. One of his legs was drawn up under him, the other stuck out almost straight from his hip and bent at the knee. That knee was currently buried in Steve’s side right above the hip bone.

“Bucky…” Steve mumbled into the pallet and shoved Bucky’s knee away. “Why can’t you ever sleep like a human being?”

 

**Brooklyn  
1939**

“Consider it payback, buddy,” Bucky said, once Steve had given up and shaken him awake. “On account of all those times you’ve woken me up with your own Jolly Roger.”

“I never bruised your ribs with that,” Steve groused, rubbing the sore spot where Bucky’s knee had clobbered him. “If I had, I think I’d be a little bit proud of it.”

“No, but you’ve hoisted your mast right into my porthole and… and…” Bucky shook his head blearily. “I don’t know. I lost the metaphor somewhere.”

“Were you having a pirate dream or something?” Steve yanked the blanket back around him and tried to settle back down. “Or have you been reading too many _Popeye_ comics again?”

“Nah, I was listening to _Magic Island_.” Bucky’s voice was already slurring with sleep. “Love that serial…”

“Mmm.” Steve felt himself beginning to drift off again as well. “Just keep your knees to yourself, huh?”

“And you keep your… your sword play… to yourself… buddy…”

“Love you, Buck,” Steve murmured, and fell asleep.

 

**Wakanda  
2016**

Steve awoke to the placid, steady sound of bovine chewing. (Did goats count as bovine? Also, was he imagining things or was there a goat in the hut?)

He sat up.

Stevie the goat chewed on the edge of blanket. He let out a little ‘baa’ of acknowledgement when he caught Steve’s eye and continued chewing unperturbed.

“Bucky?” Steve waved ineffectually at the goat, never coming anywhere close to him, and rolled blearily over to nudge Bucky. “Buck… your goat’s eating the bed. Make him stop.”

Bucky snorted, but didn’t open his eyes. “Yeah. He does that.”

“But I don’t want him to do that.” Steve tugged the blanket away, but the goat simply ‘baa’ed again in what sounded like annoyance and began munching a different corner.

“Take him out to the salt lick.” Bucky draped his arm over his eyes. Clearly he wasn’t moving any time soon. 

“What are you talking about?” Steve had no idea what a ‘salt lick’ was, or whether it was even a real thing. “Are you still asleep?”

Abruptly Bucky sat up. “City boy.” He struggled out of bed (clad in nothing but shorts, Steve couldn’t help but notice), grabbed Stevie by the scruff of his neck, and dragged the goat outside of the hut. “It’s the salt lick for you, pal.”

Steve remained where he was, sitting up on the pallet with the blanket pooled around his waist, watching Bucky haul Stevie the goat off to a big rock down by the riverside. The goat immediately began to lick the surface of the rock, and Bucky turned to head back towards the hut.

“Salt lick.” Bucky twitched the entry curtain closed. “Provides the goats with vital macro and micro nutrients.” Off Steve’s look, he added, “Which I only learned about a month ago. It’s a process.”

Steve was struck by how completely Bucky seemed to be embracing his life in Wakanda. The Bucky he’d known during the war, and beforehand, would never have known how to care for a herd of goats, much less wanted to do so. He’d been every inch the ‘city boy’ he’d accused Steve of being a moment ago. But here in Wakanda, Bucky was becoming different.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that.

“Who’s teaching you all this stuff about goats?”

Bucky smiled. “The kids, mostly, though some of the elders helped me get set up. Like I said, they don’t want the white boy dying on their watch.”

“So is it your job to watch the goats?” Steve furrowed his brow. “Did they tell you you had to do it, or did you just decide to do it and they’re helping you out with it?”

“The princess wanted me to start living again.” Bucky settled on the edge of the pallet. “Didn’t want me just staring at the walls and not talking much. So she set me up here, and here I am.”

He looked at Steve for a long moment. “And here you are.”

“Here we are,” Steve repeated, reaching out a hand for Bucky’s. 

In a world where so little made any sense anymore, when the two of them were fugitives, one on the run from the country he loved so much and the other hiding in a hut on the other side of the world from his home, Steve wanted so badly for their old connection to reassert itself. They’d been the entire world to one another before the war, and they’d both harbored hopes that they could return to that state afterwards. And yet…

And yet, here they were.

“So…” Bucky traced small circles against Steve’s palm with his thumb. “I know you’re not here to stay. How long do I get you for?”

“I’ve only got 48 hours,” Steve sighed, melancholy crashing down on him as he realized that a good third of that time was already gone. Maybe more. 

Bucky said nothing.

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand reflexively. “But I’ll be back. We’ll make the most of the time we have now, and I’ll come back as soon as I can and as often as I can, and hopefully it won’t be too much longer before I can convince everybody that making me a fugitive in the first place was a horrible idea, and we can both go home.”

Another beat of silence.

Bucky licked his lips. Smiled. “Well, if I only get you for one more night, let’s make the most of today.”

The day was a whirlwind of activity. Steve could hardly take it all in. Bucky brought him around the village, introducing him to everyone, including the elders who’d set him up in his hut and the children who’d been teaching him how to care for his goats. They all seemed to want to stare at Steve and pepper him with heavily-accented questions, which he answered as best he could. He couldn’t understand why his responses seemed to prompt so much giggling from the children, or such stifled smiles from the elders, but he tried to take it in stride.

“They’ve been asking after you,” Bucky explained while they took a dip in the river to escape the heat. “Asking when my... when you would come visit. They’re happy to finally meet you.”

“What did you tell them about me?” Steve asked, ducking his head under the water and flinging his dripping hair back from his forehead as he came up. 

The fact that Bucky had told them about him at all was a bit of a thrill, and the fact that Bucky had slipped and called Steve ‘his’ something was an even bigger one.

“That you’re a massive pain in the ass, mostly.” Bucky didn’t even bother hiding his smirk. “More stubborn than a goat. Always spoiling for a fight.” 

He floated past Steve, face tilted toward the sun, hair spreading out in undulating waves. 

“Nothing you didn’t already know.”

“You mean nothing you haven’t been griping about for as long as you’ve known me.” Steve splashed him. “Right?”

Bucky splashed him right back, though it was half-hearted at best. “Nothing that isn’t true, pal.”

“Okay.” Steve floated closer to Bucky. “So how come they’ve all been asking after me then?” He smirked. “It can’t be just so they can all tell you I’m not nearly as bad as you made me sound.”

“I told them you have a nice ass,” Bucky said promptly. “So they wanted to see for themselves.”

Steve rolled his eyes and splashed Bucky again. This time, though, he had a bigger smile on his face as he did so.

“I do have a nice ass.” His smile turned into a smirk. “His name’s Bucky.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’ve been waiting seventy years to use that, haven’t you?”

“I have.” Steve grinned, put his feet down to stand on the riverbed, and wrapped both arms around Bucky. “And it was worth every minute of the wait.”

And before he could think better of it, or talk himself out of it, or let another moment of wasted time go by, he leaned down and kissed Bucky hard on the lips.

He poured every bit of longing and hope and loneliness into that kiss, every bit of feeling that he had in him. 

Bucky reached up and tangled his fingers into Steve’s wet hair, pulling them impossibly closer, and for a moment, Steve let himself bask in the incredulity of it. There they were, kissing on the riverbank of a small African nation after far too long apart.

There they were.

When they broke for air, Bucky immediately said, “Took you long enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said breathily, smoothing the wet hair back off Bucky’s forehead. “I didn’t know…” He closed his eyes briefly, shook his head, and kissed Bucky again. “I didn’t know if I could just pick up where we’d left off. I didn’t know if you’d want to.”

“So my trick with the one bed didn’t do it, huh?”

“Trick?” Steve looked at him blankly for a moment, then, as the realization dawned on him, his eyes narrowed significantly. “You’re such a jerk.”

Which didn’t stop him from kissing Bucky again. If only to shut him up and cancel out the ridiculous smirk on his face.

A couple of high pitched giggles interrupted the moment. Steve turned to his head to see three children standing at the river’s edge, though the second they caught Steve’s eyes, they took off running.

Bucky righted himself and shook his head, though he was smiling. “So..” He glanced at Steve. “You wanna go inside?”

Steve looked away in the direction the kids had rushed off towards, then back at Bucky.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I do.”

There was an awful lot of lost time to be made up for, after all.

 

**Brooklyn  
1939**

The apartment had gotten stiflingly hot, even with every window thrown open and Steve and Bucky stripped down to their skivvies. The electric fan whirled sluggishly. Bucky had gamely placed a tray of ice in front of the blades to little effect; now the fan was pushing hot, damp air back and forth.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/149453653@N06/48111434526/in/dateposted-public/)

“I can’t take it.” Bucky knelt in front of the window, his face dripping sweat. “We have any money? Let’s go to Coney Island. Hell, even if we don’t have money, let’s find a way to go.”

“I’ve got forty-seven cents,” Steve answered through a curtain of his own sweat. “And there’s still a bunch of casserole in the icebox for dinner. That’ll keep us until payday.” 

He hauled himself determinedly to his feet. “C’mon. Help me make a couple of sandwiches and let’s go.”

Exactly an hour and fifteen minutes later, they emerged from the bowels of the stinking subway station, coated in sweat and grime but smiling the moment they caught a glimpse of Luna Park. Right beyond that was the boardwalk and the beach and _relief_.

“No time for the Cyclone today.” Bucky half-dragged Steve across the street and away from the amusement park, eyes fixed firmly on the boardwalk. 

“What, you don’t even want to stop at Professor Wormwood’s Monkey Theater? I hear they have apes now, too.”

Bucky frowned. “Maybe after the sun goes down.”

Steve let Bucky haul him right past the crowds, right past the boardwalk, and over the expanse of sand right down to the water’s edge. Thankful they’d put on their swim trunks under their clothes, the two of them shed clothes all the way, Steve balling up his shirt and pants, tugging off his shoes and peeling off his socks and tossing the whole mess into a pile in the sand. And when they reached the water, they didn’t stop until they were neck-deep in it.

Steve let out a long, satisfied sigh as the cool water enveloped him. He simply hung there for a moment, bobbing in the gentle waves and letting the ocean soak away the heat that his body had absorbed all day.

“God, I needed that.”

Bucky disappeared under the water for a moment. He smoothed his hair back when he reemerged, glistening in the sun like some sort of movie star.

Steve watched appreciatively, and Bucky flashed him a grin. “See anything you like?”

“Lots,” Steve grinned, and was on the point of saying more when a high-pitched laugh came from a lot closer by than he would have thought. 

He turned his head quickly, a sharp bolt of panic shooting through him, but it was only a couple of girls splashing around and playfully running from their fellas.

A sudden glum feeling settled onto his shoulders. He hated always having to be so careful. Always having to watch everything he said and did in public, just on the off chance that somebody might cotton on to what he and Bucky were to one another.

What would it be like to be able to walk down a street with Bucky’s hand in his and not be afraid of what might happen because of it? To put his arm around Bucky’s waist on the sidewalk or around his shoulders in a movie theater and rest easy in the assurance that it was as common a sight as it was when another guy did it to his lady friend? To steal a kiss at an opportune time and know that the worst that might happen would be a disapproving but knowing glance from some old biddy?

What would it be like to be themselves?

Bucky floated by on his back, a knowing look on his face. “I don’t want a penny for your thoughts. We’re already down ten cents from the subway ride, and I want ice cream later.”

In spite of the bit of melancholy that had just punched him in the gut, Steve couldn’t help but smile. Not only did Bucky know him well enough to know that his thoughts were dragging him in a bad direction, but he knew just how to make them let go.

“Ice cream sounds like heaven right about now.” He smiled at Bucky in a way that (he hoped) said that his real idea of heaven was the home and the life they’d made together.

Bucky sent a handful of water his way. “If I stuck a tap in you right now, I guarantee I’d get at least a week’s worth of sap for my pancakes.”

Steve wiped the water out of his eyes and glowered at Bucky, though he couldn’t quite make the glower extend to his eyes. “Good of you to remind me what a jerk you are. I was this close to forgetting.”

God, he loved him.

 

**Wakanda  
2016**

Steve slumped forward, his face buried in the juncture of Bucky’s neck and shoulder, entirely exhausted and blissfully happy. His heart thumped rapidly in his chest, his breath came in ragged pants, and the sheen from his bath in the river was only a memory. 

But he was happier than he could remember being in a good long while.

“I love you, Buck.” He murmured it into Bucky’s neck. “I missed you so much…”

The hut was dark and cool - apparently even the most rustic huts in Wakanda had air conditioning - but their bodies were slicked with sweat, hair damp and tangled. It had been too long, far too long, since they had been like that with each other.

“Missed me?” Bucky’s fingers were still clenched in Steve’s hair, legs wrapped around Steve’s waist. “Or missed this?” His lips grazed the shell of Steve’s ear, sending a ripple of pleasure down his spine.

“Both?” Steve asked it like a question, then gave a gentle laugh and kissed the side of Bucky’s neck. “Everything. I missed being with you, I missed being able to do this with you, I missed…” He shook his head and heaved a contented sigh. “I just missed _you_.”

“Did you miss the part where I’m about to tell you that I’m hungry?” Bucky shifted slightly so he could look up at Steve. “Because I am.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Did I miss it? Yes, absolutely. Did I forget about it? Definitely not.” He shook his head, smirking. “When are you not hungry? I’d say you could set your watch by how hungry you are, but then every time of day would be the same.”

“You’re such an ass.” 

Reluctantly, they disentangled themselves, then Steve watched as Bucky heated up the remains of the _ceebu jenn_. And just like they had so many times in the past, they bolted down the food and spent the rest of the afternoon (and evening) making each other feel good.

Again and again. Just like old times, until they were too exhausted to continue. (Though Steve could probably count on getting a second wind some time in the night, and he wouldn’t hesitate to wake Bucky up for that. Just like old times.)

And as they drifted off, pawing at each other, Steve’s hand happened to drift over the knot of scar tissue on Bucky’s left shoulder. And the question came to him as naturally as breathing. “Buck? When are you going to replace that arm?”

“Oh.” Bucky sounded entirely unconcerned. “Whenever.”

“Whenever?” Steve drew back and raised an eyebrow. “Buck, you’re missing your arm, for God’s sake. Doesn’t that bother you? Isn’t it hard to do things with only one arm? Don’t you want it back?”

Bucky frowned without heat and ran his fingers down the side of Steve’s face. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“And you haven’t answered them.”

Despite the darkness of the hut, he could see Bucky roll his eyes. Well, whatever. He still wanted an answer.

“The princess has come up with a few designs, but she hasn’t found any of them satisfactory and she has other priorities as well.” Bucky ran his fingertips into Steve’s hair. “It’s only been a few months, Steve. It’ll happen when it happens.”

“Well, I hope it happens soon.” As he leaned into Bucky’s touch, Steve could hear a note in his voice that came a little too close to pouting than he might have liked. 

Oh well, he thought somewhat testily; he couldn’t help the way he felt. 

“You deserve to be whole again.”

Bucky cupped the back of Steve’s neck and bumped his forehead gently against Steve’s. “It’s going to take a lot more than a fancy arm to make me whole, buddy.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and knocked his forehead against Bucky’s a little less gently than Bucky had done. “So what is it going to take, Mr. Doom-and-Gloom?”

“Oh, I like that,” Bucky whispered. “Tell you what - if I go into the field again, that’ll be my code name.”

“You’re such an ass.” Steve couldn’t help but smile past the glare he was trying to give Bucky. “After this thing is all over and done with, I’m going to haul you right back to Brooklyn with me so I can keep an eye on you for the rest of your life.”

Bucky was silent a moment, then, “So what you’re saying is, that’s going to be my married name?”

A thrill went through Steve at the words, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and sending a shiver up his spine. He hadn’t fully realized that he’d meant exactly that, and hearing Bucky say it was all it took to bring him one hundred percent on board with the idea.

“Yeah,” he breathed, and then pulled back and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Bucky. “Wait. No. Your married name is not going to be Mr. Doom-and-Gloom. Did you think you were going to trick me?”

“Too late, pal. I’m keeping it.” Bucky’s tone was infuriatingly smug. “G’night.”

Steve sighed, exaggeratedly and exasperatedly, and wrapped his arms around Bucky. “You are not keeping it. And you’re not getting out of this by going to sleep either.”

“Can’t hear you. Too tired. Mr. Doom-and-Gloom out.”

Steve blew out another long-suffering sigh and followed Bucky off to sleep. But as he drifted off, his arms were around Bucky, a contented smile was on his face, and his heart was lighter than it had felt in months.

He awoke abruptly to the sound of high pitched giggling and a few childish voices.

“His butt is as white as the snows of Kilimanjaro!”

“As white as the salt my _umakhulu_ uses to dry fish!”

“Whiter! It’s as white as the moon!”

And that was when Steve remembered that he was sprawled facedown on the pallet, one legged hooked over Bucky and naked as the day he was born.

He looked up, his head swiveling around in embarrassed panic, and saw a handful of village kids clustered in the doorway of the hut. One of them carried a bundle of some kind, and they were all hiding laughter behind their hands. They burst out into uncontrollable giggles when they saw he was awake and took off running. 

The sound of their laughter faded away much faster than the heat on Steve’s face.

Bucky cracked an eye open. “Did they leave your hopefully less crusty uniform behind?”

“I don’t know.” Steve pulled the blanket back from Bucky, who’d predictably and shamelessly hogged it, and did his best to cover himself at least somewhat decently. “I was too busy realizing I was naked with kids staring at my ass.”

Bucky let out a surprised bark of laughter and sat up. “Yep, here it is.” He tossed Steve the bundle one of the kids had dropped on their way out the door. “I’m going to hear about this for days. Good thing you’re leaving today.”

The moment the words were out of Bucky’s mouth, his face fell. And Steve felt his heart sink at the thought that he only had a couple of hours left with Bucky before he had to leave again.

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” he murmured, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder. “Or I wish I could take you with me.” He sighed. “Or something.”

Bucky returned the sigh. “There’s no point in my saying you don’t _have_ to go.” He pressed a kiss into Steve’s forehead. 

“No,” Steve replied, trying to stifle another sigh and failing. “I’ve got people counting on me, and I can’t let them down.” He rested his cheek against Bucky’s chest. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t still miss you.”

Silence hung in the air, melancholy and almost stifling, until Bucky abruptly said:

“Go take a bath. You don’t want to return to your friends smelling like stale sex. I’ll scrounge up breakfast.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but… well, Bucky had a point. He pulled on the spare robe and stepped outside, only for Stevie the goat to immediately plow into his legs with an almost cheerful-sounding ‘good morning’ bleat.

“Morning, Stevie.” 

Steve eyed the goat suspiciously, but it looked as though the butting had been meant as a sort of greeting. Oddly enough, Stevie the goat seemed to have decided that they were friends now; he followed Steve down to the riverbank, stood stiff-legged guard over Steve’s folded robe as he bathed, and even offered gentle ‘baa’s of what sounded like encouragement.

“Yeah, I guess you’re not so bad,” Steve said grudgingly as Stevie pushed his head under his hand for a pet on the walk back to the hut. “Take care of Bucky for me while I’m away, would you?”

Breakfast might have been a somber affair, but Bucky seemed determined to keep it light. 

“So what’s on the agenda for the next few days?” he asked over mouthfuls of fried coconut bread and tea. “Save some small country no one’s ever heard of? Rescue an oil tanker from hijackers? Shave, possibly?”

“Whatever comes up on the radar.” Steve shrugged. “People still need help, Buck, whether the Avengers still exist or not.” His eyes darkened. “Whether Ross or Stark or anybody else likes it or not. Anyone who wants to stand in the way of someone doing the right thing just because that’s the way the political winds are blowing deserves what they get.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, piece of coconut bread halfway to his mouth.

Steve paused, then chuckled. “And no dice on the shaving. I’m contractually obligated to have this beard.”

“That beard chafes.” Bucky popped the bread into his mouth. “In a lot of places.”

His uniform was decidedly less filthy - whoever had washed it had done a careful job and Steve would have to remember to thank them next time. Bucky handed him an overly large box stuffed with more than enough food for a five hour flight, and then all too suddenly, it was time to leave.

Standing there on the ramp of the Quinjet, with the engines powering up and God only knew what struggles waiting for him outside the Wakandan border, Steve wished he didn’t have to go. He wished the two of them could head back home to Brooklyn together. He wished that Sokovia hadn’t gone so badly, that the Accords hadn’t gone through, that Stark had listened to anything that anyone had tried to tell him, but wishing wouldn’t change a thing.

He had to leave. He didn’t have to like it, but he still had to do it. And he’d never been one to turn away from things that had to be done.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can.” He reached out and wrapped Bucky up in a fierce hug, murmuring into his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you, Buck.”

“Well, don’t do anything stupid until you get back.” He could hear the smile in Bucky’s voice.

“How can I?” He smiled into Bucky’s shoulder and tried not to let his voice wobble the way his chin was threatening to do. “You’re keeping all the stupid with you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky backed up a step, appraising smile on his face. “Sing me a different tune, will you?”

“Why?” Steve grinned. “It’s been working for this long. If it’s not broken, why fix it?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “All right, get gone before I change my mind about letting you leave.”

And before he could think better of it, Steve gave Bucky one last kiss. He lifted a hand in goodbye, turned, and headed back up the ramp of the Quinjet. And as the craft lifted off and carried him away toward whatever was out there waiting for him, he smiled to think that at least Bucky wouldn’t be alone until he was able to come back for him.

Maybe things were going to be all right after all.

**Author's Note:**

> It was a pleasure to collaborate with gyrhs for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2019. This is my third year doing RBB, and gyrhs' beautiful art was my first choice. While I might not be as involved in the fandom as I once was, I still go hard for Stucky and I had fun writing a fic that takes place in both the past and the present. 
> 
> As always, hit me with your best comments. Questions, observations, and just general chatting are always welcomed, encouraged, and hoped for. Thanks for reading!


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